


Honor's Garden

by turnonmyheels



Category: Gone With the Wind - Mitchell
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:02:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnonmyheels/pseuds/turnonmyheels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle Watling would like to honor Melanie Wilkes, but she needs a little help</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honor's Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Edoraslass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edoraslass/gifts).



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"I know that most people out there -- the good and decent folk that is -- would never believe me if I told them this, but I love my job. Don't you go and look at me all shocked and disapproving like that, I won't have it -- not in my own house! My girls are clean. My house is furnished with the finest things money can buy. I always have a full-stocked bar and better'n all of that. I got power. Real power. When the womenfolk of Atlanta cross to the other side of the street when they see me, I don't let it hurt me none, no sirree, I know what their husbands look like with their pants down around their ankles and their bare asses gyratin' up and down. And know that I could ruin their lives with a careless mention of a war wound or mole that no person other than a wife or a doctor should know about.

But I'm better'n that. And that's why they all come to my house instead of the others. They may not think that I'm a lady but they know I'm a woman of my word. Which is why when Rhett brought in Ashley Wilkes and old Doctor Mead and made me promise to help them it made me madder'n a wet hen. When I give my word it's as good as gold but I don't give it easy. Now Rhett had a plan thought out, Rhett always has a plan and it's always thought out to the last detail, take a look around my saloon if you don't believe me - but I didn't like it none. I don't like gettin' my girls involved in any trouble, they've trouble enough on their own without no help from the outside. But Rhett asked and he gave me that cat-who-got-the-canary smile and as much as I pretend it don't, it gave me that special tingle and I couldn't say no.

I hadn't never been able to say no to that man. But that's a tale for another time.

Where was I? Oh yes, Dr. Meade and Ashley Wilkes, who was bleedin' all over my best carpet! Rhett called down a couple of my girls and gave them five dollars each to swear that Frank Kennedy had been fightin' over them! Five whole dollars for a little lie like that, can you imagine? They grabbed on to that money and swore they'd do what Rhett said. It got real hectic after that, what with Dr. Meade hollerin' for wrappins', reminded me of workin' in that poor excuse for a hospital an awful lot. But we managed to put that Ashley Wilkes back together good enough to send him on home. Rhett was coaching my girls on what to say while all the doctoring was going on and I had my hands full helping Dr. Meade and keeping anybody who didn't need to know what was goin' on from finding out. There's always at least a couple Yankees in here visiting a girl or playing some cards. They're more than a might curious too.

When it was all done and settled and Rhett stopped by to thank me all personal like, I cussed him a blue streak. I didn't mind Mr. Wilkes being in my house none, and I was glad to turn a hand to help him because his wife -- god rest her soul -- was the finest, truest lady this city has ever had or is like to have. And I didn't mind helping Mr. Kennedy out none either even though he was dead. Mr. Kennedy was a good man, he ran an honest store and was as kind to my girls as a man could be who hadn't never had much experience at sex. It was because it was all that damn Scarlett's fault that had my temper up. She ruined Mr. Kennedy and got him kilt! She killed Miss Melanie too iff'n you want my opinion on the matter.

Now, I know you're a part of that Scarlett's family and you might not like to hear people speak ill of her, but I don't care. That woman ruined a lot of lives. She's pays no more mind to the feelings of others than a barn cat does a mouse before he eats it.

But that's not what I mean to talk about neither. I know that the Wilkes' and the Hamiltons are havin' a time with Miss Melanie's death and I want to do what I can to help. Miss Pittypat and that Miss India would sooner die than acknowledge my existence, much less that I helped save that Ashley from a hangin', but I have a powerful need to do something. And I need your help to keep it secret that it's from me. You can let on that it's from Rhett and he wanted it to be a secret or iff'n you know someone back at Tara who'd like to do somethin' nice for Miss Melanie but can't afford to do it. I don't mind any if you say it's from them. But it is not --" at this point I lose my composure a bit, but I can't help myself, I hate that damn woman. "To be thought to come from that Scarlett. I know Miss Melanie wouldn't want no fancy tomb or statues or memorials or anything like that. It would embarrass her and wouldn't be proper a'tall but I can't think there'd be any harm in plantin' a nice garden at the family plot. Something that would be in bloom all year round. I've got the money to pay for it and to keep it kept up, but I can't get permission to do it and you can. If you say it's from somebody at Tara or if you get Uncle Peter to help you in the lie and say it was from the freed family slaves, I'll take care of the rest. Unless y'all wanted to help doin' the plantin' and upkeep - I'd pay you good and I think it'd be fittin' for y'all to help me if you wanted."

I watched the woman carefully; if she turned me down I'd have to find another way to pay my respects to Melanie. I'm sure me an' my girls could come up with somethin'. Bein' discrete _is_ my life's work after all.

"Ain't lived at Tara fer a while now." She turns finally and looks at me. "I been workin' tryin' ta earn money ta get my boy North, and inta school so's he can learn readin'." The weight of her stare's heavy, I can tell she's judging me and findin' me wantin'. Even now, the only woman I ever met who didn't judge me was Melanie Wilkes. "You give me money ta get my boy Ham in school and I'll git your garden planted."

It's more'n I thought she'd ask for. These freed slaves are all graspin' and reachin' but I reckon of all the people in the world I oughtta know a thing or two 'bout that. I reach for the bottle of whiskey that's sittin' between us and pour us each another jigger. Dilcey sips it and doesn't say another word, waitin' on my decision. I was born poor white trash, as they call it. No better'n my raisin', got myself pregnant at 15 and was whorin' not long after that. Didn't have much choice in the matter as my Daddy'd kicked me out and the baby's daddy wouldn't believe it was his. I ran into Rhett again not long after all'a that. He was runnin' boats for the Confederacy and took me in and set me up in Atlanta. And that's a story I ain't never gonna tell. When I couldn't stand all the death and the dyin' around me no more and wanted to help nurse he spoke to Miss Melanie for me.

When she found out I had nursin' skill she made sure they'd let me work in the hospital. Then she went an' accepted me with a smile and a hug. She never let on to none of the other women who I was or what I was. Called me Isabelle Watts and the other women did too. I'm only really proud of two things in this world, my boy and my nursin'. I wouldn't have the nursin' without Miss Melanie.

I reckon it's worth just about anythin' to pay her back for that.

"I'll give you thirty dollars." It's enough to get her North and him into school and for a place to stay, for a while at least. Things ain't as cheap as they used to be.

"My girl Prissy is wuthless can't think ta do nuthin' on her own. But she a fine hand at mendin' and launderin' and fixin' hair. I'll send her ta you and make sure she tends that garden from now on. Weren't for Miss Melanie, Scarlett woulda whipped the hide offa her years ago." She smiles at me then and finishes off the whiskey. "You take my girl Prissy and I'll take your thirty dollars and tell Uncle Peter today, git him talk to Miss India and Miss Pittypat. You handle your part. I'll be 'round tomorrow ta collect." She wraps her shawl around her tight as she heads toward the door.

 

She leaves then. I finish my whiskey and pour another shot, toast Melanie with it.

CODA

I do not know how much longer I can endure my loss. I feel as though the best, truest, and purest part of me has been cleaved away. This garden provides little succor for me. Melanie would find it beautiful, and I know that were she able, she would spend many hours cultivating it, coaxing every last colorful bloom and fragrant flower from it. She always did love gardening. She had many plans for the grounds of Twelve Oaks: topiaries, mazes, such plants that there would always be something flowering no matter how cold and wet; nor hot and dry. Melly always did care for others better than herself.

I've never had any luck nourishing anything other than my dreams. I need no garden nor monument for proof of that. I need only to look to my son and how he turns to his Aunts for comfort. Or to my friend, my darling, dearest friend Scarlett. My weakness led to the destruction of her marriage and if I am honest with myself, which is truly the only bit of honor I have left, so I must be; it led also to Melanie's death. Her death, which is what this vibrant and glorious garden reminds me of. Not her life. I cannot seem to recall the warmth of her smile. The gentleness of her touch. The fierce strength of her will.

As ever, I am weak. And leave the care of my duties in the hands of others. India, my son. Aunt Pitty and Uncle Peter, even Prissy, this garden. The business Scarlett built to yet another so it would not be destroyed by my injurious hands. I spend my days reading in this garden that gives me so much pain, and it is here where my final disgrace bears its fruit.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the faithful widower." The drawl is familiar and somehow foreign, the accent smoother than I am accustomed to, blunting the sharp edges of his words. I have waited anxiously to hear it again, knowing he, if no one else, would give the condemnation I so desire. His shadow falls over my page, I cannot stop from looking up into his face. Eager to see the hatred in his eyes. It is a hatred that I feel echoing endlessly inside. "I wondered where you were performing your daily flagellation." I set my book aside, being careful to note the page, and rise from the cold stone bench to stand before him. "Is it enough? Sitting here in this gorgeous garden wallowing in your inadequacies?"

I do not know any words that can express the agony I feel, though I know I deserve so much more. I merely meet his gaze, hoping he can see that the pain I feel isn't nearly enough, that I _need_ more. "No. I can see that it isn't. Let this be enough then, my dear Ashley. She died knowing precisely how weak and dishonorable you really were. Yet, she loved you still. She loved you and died shielding you from your own ignorance and base desires."

I need him to strike me. Of all creatures living, he has the right. If he called for a duel I would not even raise my arm against him. He loved and sacrificed for them both -- setting them before himself and all others. While I grasped at their skirts and dragged them down, forcing them to carry themselves and me.

"I hope you live a very long and lonely life, Ashley Wilkes, remembering every second of every minute of every day exactly what you've done." He steps closer to me then, close enough I can smell the tobacco and the whiskey on his breath. I close my eyes in relief -- this is it, the moment he will strike me, knock me to the ground, spill my blood, release the pain that is balled up inside. He steps closer still; I feel the heat of his breath on my face, the tickle of his mustache upon my ear. "I hope it keeps you warm at night." I brace myself waiting for the blow.

It doesn't come. I open my eyes and he is gone.

I am alone with my perdition once again.


End file.
